Moonlit Thorn
by E.E.H.Holmes
Summary: Margaret, a long lost, orphaned Fairchild. Sarah, a distant Blackthorn cousin. Tragedies send them both to train at the New York Institute where, together, they fight for the ones they love, for the friends they meet and for acceptance over what the world has left them as.
1. Chapter 1

The once clear, blue sky began to darken over the crowded city landscape. The glow of offices, apartments and streetlamps were the only thing to brighten the frosted New York streets at this time of night.

Margaret stood waiting outside of a grand building, covered in intricate carvings and beautiful statues of angels. The New York Institute. To any mundane passerby, it would have simply looked like an abandoned church, decorated instead with layers upon layers of graffiti and sporting multiple broken windows.

With her feet pressed against the tip of the crumbling, cement steps, Margaret stood starring at what would be her new home. A light, black leather bag hung firmly in her grasp, containing the few possessions she could rightfully call her own: A book of photographs of her and her Grandfather, Granville Fairchild. A ring containing her family emblem, formerly belonging to her father. And a few extra crossbow arrows that she had gotten while at the Institute in Idris.

It had been nearly 20 minutes since Brother Enoch had dropped her off, and she still hadn't had the nerve to walk up those steps herself. Too many thoughts were going through her young head, too many worries.

Finally, though, with her black bag on her back, she heaved her way up the stairs slowly, one step at a time -as if her feet were made out of lead. A giant, ornate set of doors, that looked like they belonged in a gothic cathedral, sat under the entrance archway. A brass plate was also fixed onto a pillar just right of the entrance, it must have been glamoured for etched in the plate read The New York Institute.

Margaret placed her porcelain hand gently upon the rusted metal of the door, letting the cold sink into the palm of her hand before requesting admittance.

"I am Margaret Fairchild and in the name of the Clave and the angel Raziel I request sanctuary." Her hand jolted back as the hinges of the doors began to shake, sending loose powder and dust everywhere. The right door suddenly swung inwards, releasing a slender beam of light onto the cement porch. A long red carpet could be seen lining the thin hallway that the entrance opened in to.

"Hello?" she called, peering through the doorway, the sudden warmth of the institute contrasted so much with the winter air outside that it turned her cheeks pink almost instantly.

A low chatter could be heard over a dominating crackling that, given the temperature, was most certainly a fire.

Margaret tiptoed onto the soft carpeting, "Hello?" she called once more just as the door to the institute slammed shut behind her. Certainly someone must have heard that? She thought, her body still tense from the surprise. But no, not a soul seemed to have heard, and the chatter hadn't faltered.

The long, black coat that Alice, the head of the Idris Institute, had given her seemed highly unnecessary at this point. Already beginning to sweat, Margaret unbuttoned the front and peeled it off of herself, slinging her bag temporarily on the ground while she got a handle on her coat. Now, bag and coat in hand, she continued down the seemingly endless corridor and found herself in a large room filled with couches and chairs in which six people sat.

"Excuse me," Margaret half whispered, her face burning as six sets of eyes raised to meet her own. Each filled with a look of surprise, confusion or suspicion-or even a mix of the three.

She quickly looked down and began to stare intensely at a piece of string on the floor, never before had string appeared so interesting to her as it had at that moment.

"I was wondering if I could stay here. I mean, I know I can stay here, I am a Shadowhunter after all. Well, I need to be trained more, and so I was just wondering who to talk to about my stay."

Stop rambling, she scolded, get to the point and tell them why you are here, you are making such a fool of yourself.

She looked up from the wooden floor then, taking in the grand space before her. The room was set up almost as if it were a library, hundreds of books adorned the shelves of which covered most of the walls. A fire was ablaze illuminating the faces of those before her and she searched for at least one friendly face. To her surprise, she got four.

However, what surprised Margaret more than their reaction to her terribly embarrassing entrance, was who each of the six faces belonged to. She couldn't help but list them off one by one. Pointing to them as she went,

"Isabelle Lightwood, Simon Lewis," her gaze continued moving as her finger flew over each face. "Jace Herondale, Alec Lightwood, Magnus Bane and," she took a sharp breath in, "Clary? Is it really you?" Each of their heads turned quickly in Clary's direction, leaving a long pause that no one quite knew how to fill.

"Do we know each other?" Clary asked politely, clearly racking her brain for any connection between the two of them other than their obvious similarities in appearance.

"Well, not exactly. But..." she took a deep breath "I am your cousin, I just found out myself actually. I was sent from Idris to live here...were you not told of my transfer?" A loud cough echoed through the room, Margaret whipped her head around just in time to see Alec thumping Jace hard on the back as he choked on his tea.


	2. Chapter 2

A cold, blue light filtered into the small, nearly empty bedroom, creating a luminous, snow-like blanket that leaked into every crevice of the space.

With a groan, Sarah rolled herself out of the pink and white quilted covers that had consumed her for most of the night and propped herself up into a sitting position facing the door. Her feet rested gently on the rough, wooden floor that forever held a thin layer of dust from years past. Voices could faintly be heard from down the hall, which wasn't surprising seeing as she shared the house with nearly ten others. The majority of which were children, something that Sarah was not at all used to.

As the voices grew louder, however, Sarah knew it was finally time to get moving. She crossed the room in three swift strides, arriving at the front of a large, wooden closet that took up most of the space in her room. The brown, rusted hinges nailed into its frame gave a loud cry as she pulled open it's doors and selected a plain blue tank-top, black sweat-jacket and jeans from the now empty wardrobe. Flinging off her pyjama shirt and pants, revealing her scarred, pale skin, Sarah threw her clothes on as quickly as she could. She hated being this vulnerable, this revealed. Especially somewhere she didn't belong.

Once the moment had finally passed, she began making her way over to the door but never got so far. Like an alarm going off, Sarah's heart raced and pounded throughout her body. Her head suddenly became heavy and her vision blurred. To avoid collapsing onto the ground, using the last of her strength, she launched herself onto her bed. Hot tears made their way down her face as she clutched her throbbing head.

"Please," she whispered through gritted teeth, "not today."

After a few minutes, the pain in her head had subsided but her heart had seemed to get faster, causing her to break out in a cold sweat. Gingerly, Sarah lifted herself up just enough so that she could reach her bedside table. One trembling hand took hold of the top shelf and yanked it open a little more harshly than she had intended for the whole drawer came out and onto the bed. This didn't matter though, Sarah's attention was only on its contents. As quickly as she could manage, for her headache had started to return, she lifted and opened up the small, blue bottle which sat at the far end of the drawer. Without a moment's hesitation, she poured the entire amount of clear liquid, which sat in the bottle, down her throat. Coughing as the bitter substance touched her tongue.

Lying face up on her bed now, all the pain began to recede and her heart began to slow. The only thing it couldn't stop, however, was her tears. Which kept steadily streaming down her freckled cheeks.

"Why did you have to choose today?" she whispered, her voice hoarse and the taste of salt strong in her mouth.


	3. Chapter 3

"Wait -we never got a fire message from the Clave. How could they have transferred her without telling us?" Isabelle's eyes flew from her family and friends, over to Margaret and back again, seeming curious more than anything.

"Actually..." Simon began, slowly setting his coffee cup on the table in front of him, "we got one about two hours ago, but I could have sworn that I had told one of you." A massive groan echoed throughout the room as the Shadowhunters rolled their eyes in exasperation and annoyance, this clearly wasn't the first time something like this had happened.

"If it's verification you need," Margaret interjected before anyone could say anything more, "you could call on the Silent Brothers. Brother Enoch dropped me off here in fact." Butterflies fluttered uncontrollably in her stomach again as six faces turned onto her once more. Is this what it's going to be like every time I speak? She thought, trying not show her nervous energy in her expression.

Clary was the first one to stand up, her fiery, copper hair, that was so much like her own, falling gracefully over her shoulders with the movement.

"You said you were my cousin," she stated not unkindly, "but that's impossible. I don't have any living relatives other than my mom and Luke. Why haven't we ever heard of you?"

Margaret paused for a moment before speaking, her mind drawing a blank. Why hadn't she connected the dots earlier herself? Why had the Clave only just found out, and why did it mean she had to be sent here?

Finally, she spoke, "Honestly, you know about as much as I do." Now fiddling with her bag, she continued, "I was raised by my Grandfather, Granville Fairchild, un-until he died around seven years ago." Tears stung the back of Margaret's eyes and threatened to fall onto her cheeks. "It was sudden; his heart just gave out. " A silence washed over the room, each of them had lost someone over the years, it was part of being a Shadowhunter. But they also knew of the pain that lingered, no matter the amount of time that passed. Clary made her way over to Margaret looking as if to give her a soothing hug -or at least a pat on the back- but was stopped, Jace's arm holding a protective barrier between them.

"While this news is riveting," he snapped, "we have no proof of what you are saying and believe me when I say this, I have had enough negative experiences with thought to be, and actual relatives of Clary's." Margaret's face turned grey at that, and she seemed to shrink down even smaller. Simon shot her an apologetic look, remembering how he too started out as an outsider. Everyone had already developed expectations of him based on stereotypes before he was given the chance to prove himself. He hated the thought of that happening to someone else. But then again, this was about Clary's protection.

Slowly, his face to began harden. Now the only people in the room not shooting her looks of death were Clary, who was far too embarrassed to look up from the floor, and Magnus, who was looking tentatively at the fire crackling; as if bored by their pointless attempt at protecting their auburn haired friend.

Throughout Jace's rant, Margaret had been chewing ferociously on her lip. Now swallowing the bitter and salty taste of blood she stopped and made eye contact with him,

"What do you want me to do?" she asked. Jace seemed taken aback by this, expecting tears or an angry storm out- he himself was very used to being the cause of both reactions- instead, he received calmness, a response much more similar to that of which he would have given.

He pondered for a moment, a look of caution and interest replaced his anger. "Come with me," he gestured for her to follow as he swiftly leapt from his sitting position, and headed towards the corridor. "We are going to see someone who might actually be able to clear this up."

"Who?"

An unkind smile crept onto his face, "Jocelyn." While his voice was cold, there was something gentler just beneath the surface. Fondness, perhaps, for whom he spoke of?

"As in my Aunt? Clary's mum?"

"Unless you know of another Jocelyn who can help us with this?" he smirked, "My girlfriend's mother was indeed the person I was referring to."

"Wow," she breathed. "I wonder if she knows I exist?"

"Well, that's what we're about to find out." He said marching out of the room, pausing at the doorframe only to usher the others along, causing everyone to quicken their pace.

Clary took the lead as she pulled open a heavy wooden door.

How many rooms are in this place? Margaret couldn't help but wonder, the Insitute seemed to never end. Just as she thought they had reached the end of a corridor they would round a corner and march through yet another. It was a maze of never-ending rooms and dimly lit hallways.

"Mom?" she heard Clary say, knocking on the door, snapping her out of her thoughts, "You in there?"

"Yes, honey. One second!" Jocelyn replied followed by the crashing sounds of what appeared to be someone clearing up. She swung it open

M wide then, clearly shocked by the number of people outside of her office door. Her eyes darted across the seven faces in front of her, her eyes halting on Margaret's.

"You." She breathed her face going ghostly white, "w-why are you here? How could you possibly be here?"

Not understanding the strange question Margaret responded, "My name is Margaret Fairchild and I am the daughter of Fredrick Fairchild, your brother." Jocelyn's eyes enlarged as if she had hoped it not to be true. She looked Margaret up and down in shock and disbelief. She tilted her head then out of sight, no one but Clary noticing the longing in her gaze that lingered or the wishful smile pulling at her lips. With confusion, Clary saw her face harden and her eyes shift to a stony glare.

"Get out."


	4. Chapter 4

Knock Knock

Sarah's head whipped towards the sound while she frantically picked up the pieces of her nightstand, and the now broken potion bottle.

"Just a second!" She hollered, the broken glass scraping the insides of her calloused palm as she carelessly scooped up the mess.

"Sarah? It's Diana, we need to talk." While the graveness in her voice was apparent it didn't make Sarah waver in her hasty actions. She still rushed around the room, trying to erase any sign that she had had another attack.

"I-I'm coming!" She stuttered while taking one last look around to see if she might have missed anything. It had seemed she hadn't, so, combing her fingers through her hair, she opened the door to a fairly tall woman with mud, brown hair and worried blue eyes. A brown belt and sheath, containing a small, sharp knife, hung from her grey dress.

"They're here, Sarah. I just wanted to make sure that you were ready?"

Sarah nodded, her expression stony and unemotive. Exactly how she kept it around others. Diana nodded in response as if reassuring herself that everything was okay and set. She seemed even more worried than Sarah did about this, which, even though she wasn't showing it, Sarah didn't think was possible.

"Julian and Emma have taken the children out to train at the beach, they won't be back for some time, so you'll be able to take your tests in the training room."

The written exams were easy, Sarah passed with flying colours. They were just a matter of memorizing runes and various pieces of Shadowhunter history, something everyone was forced to do from a young age. It was the physical portion that really took a toll on her. Not the running. Not the throwing knives. None of that. It was the pressure. The pressure they forced you to mimic battle. That's what threw her over the edge.

"It's simple," the Inquisitor had said, his cold, apathetic gaze resting heavily upon Sarah. "The lights will be dimmed to recreate the effects of a nocturnal mission. Mannequins of varying sizes and shapes will pop out of the walls and floors, a few will even be on tracks moving vertically across the room. Some will be made to look like mundanes, some shadowhunters and some demons. It's your job to distinguish the three and eliminate the demons without harming the innocent or any Nephilim. Got that?"

Sarah nodded nervously as the Inquisitor raised one grey, bristly eyebrow. Creasing the weathered, rough skin above it. Diana stood directly beside him, her eyes darting from him to Sarah.

"It's testing your reaction times, Sarah, just keep yourself focused and calm." She reassured, once again ringing her hands in her dress.

"I've got it," she responded, walking towards the back wall and crouching as if beginning a short-distance sprint. As the Inquisitor had said, the lights began to dim and wooden mannequins were put in place. Diana was just far enough across the training hall that Sarah could see the tip of her bun poking out over the pieces of equipment. She was saying something to Inquisitor in a low voice, although she was far out of earshot so Sarah wouldn't have been able to hear her anyway.

Soon, the Inquisitor, Diana and all of the other various guards had moved out of the training room, closing the doors loudly behind them. Most likely they had used a rune on one of the training room walls so that they could see her test from outside the hall, eliminating the risk of one of them getting caught in the crossfire of one of her knives. Sarah's hands trembled as they gripped the floor beneath her. There was something about being specifically watched, whether for a test or just a training exercise, that had never sat well for Sarah.

Deep breath, deep breath, she soothed. Once again trying to keep her face as placid as possible. Suddenly a blindingly white spotlight popped over a mannequin deep within the room, Sarah sprinted towards it without hesitation. Her right hand was clasped firmly around the hilt of one of her throwing knives, her eyes squinting at the bright light as she tried to make out which mannequin she was coming towards: It seemed to have a humanoid figure, with pure, tan skin and familiarly short, dark hair. Mundane, Sarah thought, going by the lack of runes on the skin. Swiftly, she pushed one foot out in front of herself, stopping mere inches away from the mannequin. Turning her back to it and standing in a distinctly protective stance, she faced the rest of the dark surroundings. A throwing knife now out of its sheath rested in the crook of her palm.

With a click, the light above her went out and onto a mannequin directly to her right. It was on a track and was moving towards her and the "mundane" alarmingly fast. She could see straight away by its shape that this was neither human nor Nephilim. Her knife whipped passed the side of her head and flew into the mannequins middle with a loud clank. The demon's track halted almost instantly after being hit, although the white light didn't go out. It stayed for a good six seconds after stopping and was starting to give Sarah a headache. But soon enough it popped over yet another humanoid figure across the room. As Sarah got closer, however, and the white light seemed to get brighter, she soon realised this was nothing she was meant to be protecting. Its form had misled her at first, but not anymore.

Suddenly, without even realising it, she was not only running, but she was sprinting forward. As fast as her body would let her. Tears stung the back of her eyes as she saw the two black, chiselled horns sitting at the top of its head. She was no longer seeing the rest of the training room nor any of the other mannequins. Instead, her vision was filled with fire and her ears were ringing with the sound of a single, piercing cry. A pain like no other filled every inch of her body, forcing her to double over onto the floor as every other piece of reality that was left morphed into a blinding field of white.


	5. Chapter 5

It had been had been nearly an hour since Margaret's unfortunate encounter with her aunt. Whatever sort of welcome she had been expecting, "get out" was certainly not it. Of course, she couldn't actually leave the New York Institute. She had been sent by the Clave, whose word-to a Shadowhunter, was of the highest authority.

The look on Jocelyn's face still flashed fresh in Margaret's memory, the look of anger, betrayal and a touch, she thought, of sadness. The sadness had quickly evaporated, however, as Jocelyn started off on a tirade. She had brought herself up close to Margaret as she spouted horrible accusations of how her brother, Fredrick, had betrayed her family. Even the Fairchild name, and that Margaret was simply living proof of his wrongs.

"He was a sick, sick man," she had spewed. "He didn't deserve the honour that came along with the name Fairchild, the dignity, the history, and nor do you."

Margaret had clenched her fists by her side, her nails cutting painfully into her palms.

Who was this woman to tell her what she was-or rather wasn't-intitled to? She bit her tongue and held back the words aching to explode,

no, she thought, this is exactly what she expects of me. I won't let her have that satisfaction. So she said nothing and did nothing, she remained still, her whole body rigid with tension as Jocelyn continued to spout her horrible accusations. Finally, though, she had had enough.

"If you think all of that about me," she said looking Jocelyn dead in the eyes, "then you are no better than every shadowhunter who compared Clary to Valentine." Dread washed over Jocelyn's face, and for some reason, Margaret felt guilty.

It didn't matter now though, the time had passed. After Jocelyn's outburst, the other six in the room had tried to get Margaret away from her quickly. They had given her a room to stay in, which, now that she could actually get a look around, was a lot nicer than anything she had been presented within Idris.

The walls were painted a very light blue, so light that they nearly looked white. A soft, cream coloured quilt adorned the bed, and three plump navy pillows lay ready for her to sink into. The floor, like most other areas of the institute, was wooden, and Margaret couldn't help but enjoy the soft creak it made underneath her feet as she trod lightly across the room. It reminded her of her grandfather's house. Stop it she told herself and pushed the thought of him aside. It was easier that way.

Slowly, Margaret made her way around the room, becoming accustomed to the space and beginning to arrange her few belongings. First, she balanced her crossbow arrows next to the chest of drawers, thinking practically on how she would be able to grab them quickly if needed. Then, she pulled out her few sets of clothes-not one for colour, each was of a shade of black or white-and tucked them away neatly. Next, she picked up her photos of her grandfather and shoved them firmly behind her clothes slamming the drawer shut. All that remained in her bag was the ring her grandfather had given her, the Fairchild ring. I am not worthy of this, am I? she thought to herself, allowing the tears that had been stinging at the back of her eyes to fall silently down her face. Rocking her self back and forth she felt comforted and the anger that had been clouding her gradually began to swell.

I never even got to know any of these people, she steamed, not my father! Barely my grandfather and yet I'm cursed with the weight of their mistakes!

Margaret snapped herself out of it. She couldn't see the ring anymore, but could vaguely recall launching it across the room in frustration. It must have felt good, for a bit of her tension begun to ease. But then she realized what would potentially make her feel even better. She stood up and raced out of the room then, marching down the stairs two at a time. She arrived and took a deep breath, remembering being stood outside the same set of doors just that morning, how different she had felt then. This time, she knew exactly what she was going to do. Pushing them open wide she walked in and was immediately taken aback by the grandeur of it all.

It was so much better than what she had seen in pictures and what was described to her in books and lectures.

Every wall was covered in shelves, and each self, in books. Margaret couldn't believe her eyes. No other institute had had as many books as she could see before her, in fact, no mundane library had had as many-although Margaret hated admitting she went to mundane libraries on a regular basis-she was in shock. "JK Rowling," she sighed, "Suzanne Collins, Rick Riordan", the number of mundane authors was astounding, Margaret didn't even know if they were officially allowed in Institutes.

She scoured the library before pulling out an ancient looking copy of one of her all-time favourites and clutched it tightly to her chest.

"Interesting choice," she heard from behind her and quickly whipped her head around to see Magnus, still perched on his chair by the fireplace. Margaret had missed him entirely whilst admiring all of the books. He must have thought her a fool for fangirling over pieces of paper she realized, blushing slightly. "A Tale of Two Cities, if I am not mistaken." Sheepishly, Margaret nodded her head. Magnus had probably lived through the French Revolution, thinking the book to be mere nonsense. "Did you know, that book has been here since the 1800's?" he said quietly. "And it has only ever been touched by two people, that is until you came in here now."

"Really? Who?" she asked.

"Two of the strongest people I have ever known," he replied smiling wistfully, artfully swirling a glass of brandy in one hand.


	6. Chapter 6

The white light that consumed her sense of reality began to dim. A cold sensation, that centred around her forehead, spread throughout her body. Slowly, different senses started to return. First, it was her sight. The arched, wooden walls of the infirmary blurrily came into view. Sarah could only just make out a tall figure standing over her. A splotch of brown hair hung around her shoulders and a long, black robe or dress (she couldn't quite make it out) draped onto the edge of the bed.

"Diana?" She tried to mumble, but the words turned to dust in her mouth, making it sound instead like a wheezy gasp. A gentle hand came over her head, trying to soothe her back to rest. A shooshing echoed through her ears as did the word sleep. Despite her best efforts, Sarah's blurred vision became dark once more as an overwhelming drowsiness came over her.

A thin beam of light fell into the Infirmary through the skylight, resting lightly on Sarah's paper-white skin. Her eyes fluttered open suddenly as she flung herself bolt upright against the short backboard of the bed. Blood drained from her head a little too fast, giving her a dizzy spell for just a moment.

A Silent Brother, in aged, brown garb, sat in a chair to her left.

Calm yourself, child. His voice boomed in her head. Diana will be here momentarily to explain everything.

Sarah's confusion increased as she looked down at herself; her arms seemed to be nearly covered in faded, white iratzes and she no longer had any of her usual array of weapons on her.

"How long have I been unconscious?" Sarah asked, pulling her knees up to her chest and resting her head in her palm.

Two nights and almost three days, he replied, still unmoving. Sarah's eyes widened at this as she pulled her legs out of the blankets that covered them. Placing them on the cold, cement floor. But, as she began moving her torso, a small stabbing pain tore at a small area on her right, about an inch above her pelvis.

"Egh!" She exclaimed, pulling up the side of her shirt without hesitation. Her mouth dropped the moment she saw the source of her pain, for what sat beneath her thin tanktop was her parabatai rune, as dark as the day she got it, with a wide, red crack through the middle of it.

"Wha-"

"Sarah!" Diana interrupted, bursting through the heavy, double doors. She must have been running from whatever part of the Institute she had been in for her face was quite flustered, and some of her hair had flown out of place. "I'm so sorry that I wasn't here sooner, the Silent Brothers told me I couldn't b-." She stopped short the moment she saw what Sarah was looking at, a look of concern and sympathy replacing the hysteria.

"Diana, what happened to me?" She demanded, indicating her cracked rune, trying to keep the fear from her face.

Her mind suddenly wandered back to the events in the training room: the horrible, bright white light, the mundane mannequin and the horned demon. With the last thought in her mind, her jaw tightened and her expression hardened.

Diana moved to put her hand on Sarah's arm,

"Sarah," she whispered, "none of this was your fault... If I had known what the Inquisitor's intentions were-"

Sarah yanked her arm out of the older woman's grasp, hugging it to her chest. "What do you mean intentions?" Diana angrily bit her bottom lip before replying,

"The Inquisitor had those mannequins made to purposefully remind you of that night, but it ended up strengthening your bond with your parabatai. Since that night, naturally, your bond had weakened. But those flash backs formed a connection between you and Edom, it must have been too much for your physical rune." She gestured towards the crack on Sarah's stomach, "an unprecedented reaction. Anyways, the Inquisitor's initial goal was to document your reaction. It was actually the deciding factor in..." She stopped herself for a second, choosing her next few words carefully and slowly. "In determining whether or not you were going to stay at the LA Institute."

Sarah's mind went blank. She had known going into the tests that they would determine whether or not she could go out into the field, a horrible enough alternative for any Shadowhunter, but having to leave her now only home? Despite all her anger towards this place, despite all the feelings of not fitting in, that seemed so much worse in comparison.

"I have to leave?" She asked, trying her best to tie nothing more than the words to her question.

"I'm so sorry Sarah, but yes." Diana's eyes fell to the floor again as she failed to make eye contact, "you're being sent to the NY Institute. Brother Enoch is here to take you." she said indicating the Silent Brother sitting by the other end of the bed.

"The- the NY Institute? But what need is there for me there that they don't have here?"

"A girl your age has just been sent there, she's in a similar situation as you. You're going to train with her for a while before taking the tests once more."

"Similar situation," Sarah laughed dryly, "how? Did her parabatai get sent to h-" she gasped in surprise, Diana's hand clasped firmly over her mouth, she shoved it off firmly. "Don't touch me."

"Sarah," Diana warned.

"No, don't 'Sarah' me." she scorned, " You are kicking me out! You are getting rid of me after everything. Everything. It is your fault. Your's! He is gone and it is all your fault. It was a stupid mission and it is all your f-" she felt her chest hitch as she chocked back her tears. Never had she cried in front of someone about this, about him. And it just seemed silly to be doing it now.

"Sarah," Diana soothed, "it's going to be alright."

"He's gone."

"I know," she placed a gentle hand on Sarah's shoulder. But Sarah didn't relax, she sat bolt upright and pushed back the tears that were now threatening to spill down her cheeks. Finally, she turned and faced Diana.

"How similar?" Sarah paused searching for a glimmer of reassurance in Diana's eyes, no one should have to go through what she went through.

"She hasn't had a parabatai," Diana said softly, answering the question perfectly. "But she has felt and knows all about pain."

"Pain," Sarah repeated, "I wish I knew less about it."


	7. Chapter 7

After her talk with Magnus, Margaret retreated to her room still clutching the book so dear to her and fell asleep.

The past couple of days had been quiet, and awkward. No one knew what to say to her-that is apart from Magnus-not being able to blame her for the accusations Jocelyn was throwing her way, and yet not understanding why the accusations would be false. Too scared about bumping into people, Margaret had visited very few places within the Institute, mainly travelling to and from the library. Last night, however, had been an especially late one, eyes fluttering open and closed Margaret gave up her 13th book of the day and trecked back to her room.

The next thing she remembered was the sound of someone rapping swiftly at her door.

"Training starts in five." she placed the voice as Alec's. Embarrassed that he had to wake her up she rolled out of bed and threw on one of her many pieces of black training gear, that had been left for her in her closet. She leaned over and began pulling on her black converse, stumbling out of her room and nearly falling flat on her face as she busted through the door.

As she regained composure, Margaret glanced up only to see five people looking back. Simon's eyes darted away, feeling bad about seeing her trip. Izzy was beside him, fingers interlinked with his, and using her free hand she waved sympathetically over her shoulder. Alec smiled at her almost knowingly, filling her with what felt like a little more dignity. Jace and Clary, however, were the hardest to look at. Jace, not even trying to stifle a laugh, stood beside Clary who, meanwhile, was fidgeting uncomfortably. Margaret noticed that her cousin always seemed to be on edge around her, especially when they were with other people. She just hoped she could get her alone for a minute, maybe explain that she had never even met her father. Surely Clary of all people would understand.

"Morning," she muttered awkwardly, trying desperately to break the silence that seemed to eat away at any confidence she had left.

"Actually, afternoon," Jace smirked, his golden eyes shining with amusement. "You've slept away most of the day and none of us wanted the pleasure of going in to wake you up." He nodded towards her room just as Clary elbowed him, with what looked like some great effort, in the ribs. Forcing Jace to instinctually grab at his side, "Fine, fine," he continued, his smug smile never wavering. "The Clave sent us a second fire message a couple of hours ago since then we've been debating on how best to train you."

"We've decided," Alec continued for him, his strong eyes locked steadily on her small form. "To ask you to do some basic training exercises, just to give us a sense of where you're at and what we need to teach you. Honestly, none of us has much experience with any of this so it'll be new to us all."

The walk to the training hall had been long and tedious. Other than the introduction they had given Margaret, which had seemed fairly scripted, none of the older Shadowhunters seemed to have a word to say to her.

Trying not to look any more nervous than she already did, Margaret chose to focus on her surroundings instead: The NY Institute was much smaller than the one in Idris but had a much more homey feeling. Wallpaper, faded by the passing of time, lay glued to the walls. It might have held a pattern at one point, but by now anything that had been printed on it -apart from its light brown colour- was almost completely worn and gone.

A few photos and family trees were nailed across the innards of the hall; some of much older Shadowhunter families, who must have run the Institute centuries ago, however, others were much more recent. Before Margaret could see many more though, the group as a whole rounded yet another sharp corner, bringing them down a large, cement staircase and into a new hall. This one, though, was much less welcoming. Scratch and skid marks adorned the walls which were coloured a cold grey. The floor wasn't carpeted as the others had been, this one was hard and wooden. Black footprints and streaks were freckled randomly across it, we must be quite close to the training room, Margaret thought, her fingers subconsciously picking at one another.

A grey pair of double doors lay at the far end of the hallway. The right one has propped open a crack, letting an elongated sliver of gold light into the otherwise dark, dreary corridor. Margaret's heart began to pump anxiously as her eyes settled on a rack of weapons that could barely be seen through the gap, she had never been in a proper training room before. Of course, there had been one at the Idris Institute, but that one had been made to hold hundreds of orphaned shadowhunters so they had never had anything nice or new.

Alec, who was at the head of the group, pushed the right door the rest of the way open. Holding it for the rest of them to pass through. He nodded as Margaret, the first to enter, walked past him and into the grand room.

Her gaze filled with the sight of the multitude of weapons and pieces of gear that the training room held. There were more than she could have ever imagined; shelves and trays completely covered two of the four huge walls that surrounded her. A large array of weapons, shields and other various tools occupied them, their metals reflecting the cool glow of the overhead lights glouriously. Hard, blue mats were strewn over parts of the floor, some were even propped up against the walls. Must be for one-on-one combat training, she guessed, her long, slender fingers gliding lightly over the few nearest to her.

A flash of gold in the corner of Margaret's eye caught her attention, she turned her head towards where Jace, and a few of the others, were gathering. There were backs all to her as she walked mindfully towards them, they were opening up a weapons case it seemed. Isabelle held a very rusted, yet still ornate, key. She turned it in its lock as her eyes settled on Margaret, an odd twinkle was evident in her gaze as she thrust open the cabinet doors revealing even more weapons.

"Now Margaret," she smiled, "it's time for you to choose your weapon." Isabelle's strong, marked arm gestured towards the inside of the cabinet, her silver whip curled elegantly around her wrist.

The cabinet held rows upon rows of daggers, short-swords, whips and seraph blades. But as Margaret's eyes combed through the selection, she failed to find what she sought.

Smiling nervously, she met Isabelle's eyes. "Actually, it's not in here." Confusion swept over the rest of the group as Izzie's excited expression turned puzzled. "I use a crossbow," Margaret clarified, "and most of these seem to be short-range weapons."

"Crossbow?" Jace repeated, "You, you use a crossbow? I can't wait to see that."

Margaret looked up at him accusingly, "What, you didn't think my choice of weapon would be a crossbow? Too heavy for a poor, weak girl like me? What did you think it would be instead, a stuffed animal, a handbag, or nothing but my intelligence and award-winning smile?" she flashed him a smirk for good measure at that and saw Clary, Simon, Alec and Izzy all try to suppress a grin. Jace looked bewildered.

"Looks like you've met your match here Jace." Alec put his hand on his parabatai's shoulders steering him away from the centre of the room and passed Margaret a crossbow. "Do excuse his confusion, it's just we don't get many 15-year-old girls that show up out of the blue around here, and when they do, they don't come requesting crossbows. In fact, usually, they are pretty useless at using all weapons."

"Hey!" Clary punched Alec on the shoulder jokingly. An inside joke Margaret figured, only making her feel more out of place in the room of friends.

"But please, show us what you can do."

Margaret strode towards the centre of the room in line of sight with a large, circular target, the crossbow already loaded she lifted it to her shoulder. Calculatingly, she moved a centimetre to the left and took her stance. The pressure of everyone looking at her was overwhelming, shaking she pulled in a deep breath. Listening to the thrum of her heart beating she began to calm and exhaling softly, she pulled the trigger.


	8. Chapter 8

Sarah was expected to leave almost immediately after waking up. That was one of the reasons why Brother Enoch had been sitting by her bed; he was simply waiting for her so that he could take her to New York. Her things were even sitting by the door of the institute, packed in a leather suitcase.

Diana had left the Infirmary to gather the other Blackthorns so that Sarah may say her goodbyes, coincidentally giving her a chance to change.

Moving behind a curtain, Sarah stripped off her previous wear, throwing on a plain pair of leggings and a solid purple shirt that had been left for her. Deciding to keep the sweat jacket she had already been wearing. Her hair hadn't been washed the entire time she had been asleep, so, to hide this fact, she quickly tied it up in a loose ponytail that barely grazed her shoulders. A few shorter strands were falling out of place as she moved the curtain back and met Brother Enoch at the door of the Infirmary. The brown of his leather clothes pairing nicely with the light brown wooden arch that stood several feet above his head, delicate carvings of various healing and protective runes lay engraved at the top.

He said nothing; his head only moved slightly towards her approaching figure. His stitched closed eyes were settling lightly on her, almost as if he could see her normally.

Sarah nodded to him before placing her hand on the door, "Brother Enoch," her face now covered in its usual stony cold glaze. But before she could open the two doors, a burning question popped into her head.

She stopped short, "I-I just realised," Sarah stuttered, "what happens if I fail my next tests? Diana never actually mentioned that part." A silence like no other filled the small gap of speech before the brother finally answered.

It is presently unknown, however...He paused, seemingly choosing what next to say carefully. The most likely case would be for you to be sent to the Adamant Citadel to live with, and eventually become, one of the Iron Sisters.

A lead weight felt as if it had dropped in Sarah's stomach as she heard those last few words, causing her stoic gaze to falter for a second.

"B-but doesn't that mean that my marks will fade...disappear?" she murmured barely audible.

Yes. Was the only reply she got.

"And what about-" she couldn't bring herself to do it. Couldn't bear to ask, bear to hear his reply, but he knew what she meant.

It will go too.

Stricken, her emotionless facade failed, and her entire face fell, her body going numb. Sarah held her breath, letting the reality sink in.

"You can't" was all she was able to say, her whole body slumped. "It could be the only thing keeping him-" she choked on her tears, rubbing at them blindly. Ever since the Inquisitor's tests, Sarah found that hiding her feelings about her parabatai had become much harder.

I am afraid that that is the only other option. He pushed the door open for her, the matter had been addressed and was not up for discussion it seemed. It was during times like this that Sarah remembered the coldness of the Silent Brothers. She wondered if he had always been this way, or if it was something about their ceremony that stripped away your sense of empathy and emotion, personality. She shuddered, becoming an Iron sister was not an option.

Even though Brother Enoch's hands were now presumably interlaced underneath his thick robes, it still felt as if they were at her back. Guiding Sarah towards the front door of the LA Institute. Passing the multiple rooms and halls a feeling of emptiness washed over her, leaving a hollowness in her chest that she couldn't quite figure out how to fill. This had never been her home, and Sarah had never made much of an effort after what had happened. Nevertheless, it was still the closest, and most familiar, thing to it and to have that stripped away as well left her with nothing.

The entire rest of the Blackthorn family stood in a clump next to the door, their mass covering part of the Muriel that made up the majority of the black and white tiled floor.

Mark, the eldest of the Blackthorns, with his light hair and mismatched eyes, stood closest to the door. His hands placed in his back jean pockets and his pale blue shirt ruffling as he rocked back and forth on his heels. Trying to keep himself looking casual, although, Sarah had no idea why he wouldn't be.

Christina, leaning against the wall, was directly to his left. Their shoulders were nearly touching. An almost sombre, yet still composed, look written on her face. Never had she bonded with Christina or many of the others in the Institute, yet Sarah had respected her from their first interaction. There was something authoritarian about Christina, yet gentle. She never had to raise her voice or make a commotion to be heard or listened to. Her firm, soft words were always enough; it was very nearly admirable.

Then, of course, were Kit, Emma and the rest of the Blackthorns. All assembled in an intricate array that reflected a Victorian style family portrait. The tallest, Julian and Emma, standing behind their line of younger siblings, Emma with her arms crossed and Julian trying to balance Octavian on his hip. There was a small gap, however, directly between Dru and Ty that was large enough for a person. In fact, it almost felt as if there was one there, just by the way that the two siblings didn't dare move or even bump into it.

Sarah's cheeks burned as all eight eyes rested solely on her, four and- half of Mark's-the same green-blue as her own.

Some of the shorter pieces of her dark hair had come out of her pony-tail and tickled the back of her neck, anxiously Sarah began to pick up the pieces and interlace them in her fingers. Trying desperately not to make eye contact with any of her cousins. The most she could manage at the moment was a quick nod as Diana handed her a thick black pea coat and her suitcase.

"I know you don't need it for the weather here," Diana begun, placing the piece of clothing carefully into Sarah's hand. The wool of the coat was scratching the inside of her palm lightly, "but Brother Enoch assured me that it would be beneficial in New York. It's almost below freezing there, and their winters are known to be harsh."

"Thank you, Diana." She replied softly, the coat hanging off her right forearm and her suitcase now dangling within the grasp of her left hand. Gathering up her strength, she finally turned her gaze to her remaining family. A hollowness ate at the pit of her stomach as she saw a family that she could have had if it had not been for her parent's death during the Dark War or for what had happened to her parabatai nearly half a year ago. Despite how much she wished for something like that again, however, with those who had mattered most to her gone now, Sarah didn't see how she could bring herself to feel like that for anyone again.

"I wanted to thank you," Sarah said, trying her best to keep her voice from shaking. "For taking me in when I needed a home, I wish you all the best, and I hope to see you all again."

Diana tapped Julian gently on the shoulder, and silently, one by one every resident and ward came up to her. Each -except for Ty, of course, who merely nodded- giving her an awkward hug or pat on the back as a way of farewell. At last, she reached Mark, who to her surprise enveloped her in a warm hug-at least as warm as a hug could be from a tall; skinny fair boy-and looked deep into her eyes. She found it hard to concentrate, not sure whether to look into the shining silver or the intense blue-green of the two and decided for somewhere in between. Unsure what to do from here, she was glad when he broke the silence.

"Family can be hard to return to," he spoke quietly, "but once you have found yourself again, it can be all that you have to hold on to." He stood up straighter nudging her towards Dianna and at that, Dianna opened the door and passed through it, pulling Sarah along with her. "We hope to see you soon Sarah." she heard before the door clicked shut quietly, locking her out of yet another family.


	9. Chapter 9

Margaret heard the thump of the arrow as it struck the target. At least it made contact she thought to herself. Too afraid to look and see where exactly she had managed to put it, Margaret kept her eyes clenched shut.

"Wow" It was faint, under someones breath-Margaret was surprised she heard it over the sound of her pounding heart-but she heard it. Glancing up she saw the arrow pierced through the circle. If she had measured with a ruler and placed it, she couldn't have made it more accurate. But it still wasn't good enough. It shouldn't have gone through the target she told herself you've ruined it, used too much force.

"By the angel. That was, um, yeah, so I wasn't expecting that." Margaret realized then that she hadn't been paying attention, she didn't even know who had just spoken,

"Sorry about the target." was all she managed to mutter back, "It shouldn't have done that, I'll get better." She heard a scoff then and saw Alec suppressing a smile.

"Better?" he asked, "That was, wow. You should have seen me at your age with my bow, I wasn't that good, and you've got a way harder weapon! " he gestured towards the massive object resting familiarly in Margaret's grasp.

"I just want to be better. I know I can be." She said looking up at him in all seriousness, her eyebrows furrowed.

"Well, I can't wait to see it."

"The prospect may not be so far away," Clary interjected as a flash of red hair sped towards Margaret, her cousin smiling up at her.

"I can ask Luke to help you if you want, the crossbow was his speciality when he was a Shadowhunter." she offered.

"Oh, I don't think Jocelyn would want that," Margaret replied feeling her face flush; just the mention of Jocelyn made her feel guilty as if she had wronged the woman, although she knew that she had never done anything to her directly.

"My mum will come around; she is just suspicious. She doesn't exactly have the best family track record." Clary speculated, "Look, I don't know exactly what your dad did, but it almost ruined her. But that was your dad and not you; it's like what you said about Valentine, even if she can't see it."

"Thanks, I appreciate it. I had never even met him."

"I'd never met mine." She smiled back sympathetically. A silence began to stretch out as Clary's now kind gaze rested upon her comfortingly. However, it was soon broken by Jace who slammed his hands together. Creating a near deafening clap that echoed throughout the space. Margaret's attention snapped to him in an instant while he strode confidently to where she stood, a curious grin scrawled on his face.

"Impressive," Jace said, folding his arms across his chest, his left arm twitching slightly. "Long-range training doesn't seem like it'll be a problem, but let's see how much you need to work on one-on-one." Without warning, Jace's previously moving hand whipped out a short sword from his belt and swung it in a downwards arc directly towards her.

Margaret, not knowing what else to do, gripped both ends of her crossbow and held it up above her head, forcing it to collide with the sword. Holding her ground with one leg propped behind her to steady herself, she managed to stop the weapon from hitting her. But just barely.

"Come on Jace," Clary turned on him, her copper hair bouncing around her shoulders, her porcelain hands at her hips. "This is hardly fair!" Jace released his weapon and Margaret threw her crossbow to the side as Clary reached a hand out to the rack of weapons and attempted to grab the hilt of a short silver sword, glistening against the black shelves. She jumped gracefully before crashing to the floor empty handed.

"Hm, good weapon choice, it is so much better than what I chose," Jace said smiling smugly. " Also, glad to see you no longer have to regard your height as a disadvantage."

"Can you just grab it." She snapped, pulling herself up and off of the ground.

"Here, I'll get it." Alec's tall figure already seemed to tower over the weapons stand that dwarfed Clary, so it was no challenge for him to extend his slender arm to the top shelf and grab the short silver sword. Rolling it around in his palm for a minute, Alec considered the heft and size of it compared with Margaret. Ultimately he must have decided it fit for he thrust it towards her, his deep blue eyes locking with hers.

She nodded him thanks before immediately taking stance again; the weapon now clasped firmly in her right hand and her left arm propped out protectively.

"Ready now?" Jace beamed, his ocean blue eyes shining.

Margaret kept her face still and unmoving, trying her best not to emit her strategy through her expression.

"Let's go." Suddenly the world surrounding her seemed to melt away, and Jace was the only other object in her line of site. He was like a beacon of light in a pool of dark nothingness as he moved with nearly inhuman speed. Suddenly there were flashes of silver to her right and Margaret ducked, rolling onto and then off of the floor in one clunky, inelegant move. Missing the swipe of the blade only by what felt like a speck of dust. By the angel did she prefer long range fighting. The flashing appeared again, this time to her left. Hesitating slightly, she swung her weapon towards his blade and a thundering crack resonated from the collision. Blasting both warriors backs slightly.

Gritting her teeth as she smacked her back into what felt like the wall, although Margaret didn't remember them being too close to one when starting, she resumed her focus on Jace once more. This time around, however, Margaret realised that Jace had been struck momentarily off guard from the impact. Using this is an opportunity she leapt forward, swinging her sword backward with both hands and pulling it downwardly overhead, aiming for the middle of Jace's weapon. If she did this right, it could knock his sword clean out of his hand.

However, just before Margaret's sword could make any sort of contact, Jace whirled around on her. Gliding straight past her and giving him the advantage he needed to win this fight. Without so much as a second to blink, Margaret felt a thump to the back of the neck and a sharp pain on her upper arm as Jace flipped his sword to her throat and knocked her weapon to the ground.

He looked into her deep green eyes; a light sweat had broken out over his forehead giving his already angelic presence an almost golden glow. Panting lightly a satisfied smile broke out on his face,

"Not a bad start," he said patting her on the shoulder, lowering his sword, the silver of the blade reflecting the lights above blindingly. However, there was a tint of another, a deeper colour that managed to catch Jace's eye the second before he slid the weapon back into its sheath. Looking to his hand, Jace saw a streak of red that matched that of the stain on his blade. "Damn it; I think I cut you. Will one of you pass me a stele?" Jace peered over at her arm, scanning over the slash of blood painted against her skin as Alec fumbled around his pocket in search of the device. Once it seemed he had located it, without even calling his name Alec flung the small item over to his parabatai who promptly caught it. Jace, managing to grasp it while giving it only the slightest bit of his attention, nodded slightly in acknowledgement. With the now received stele in hand, Jace returned his gaze to Margaret's arm, puzzlement popping clear on his face.

"Wh-where is it?" He stumbled, rolling and turning the area in various directions in search of the cut he had been meant to heal.

"Huh?"

"The cut, where is it?" He looked over at Clary and Alec, "It was here a second ago, I swear."

"You mean it's gone?" Clary called over.

"Yeah! What did you do?" Margaret shifted uncomfortably as Jace's blue eyes pierced her own, his grip tightening slightly.

"N-nothing, I didn't even really feel it in the first place. I guess it just healed."

"Just, healed. What do you mean just, healed? This happens often, then?" he snapped.

"Well, I-I guess now that you mention it it's happened once or twice. But honestly, I don't know how."

"Jace, it's fine." Alec moved over swiftly, placing a hand on Jace's shoulder and taking his stele back. "It's probably just the leftover effects of some old iratzes, they've been known to do that." At that Jace's grip seemed to loosen and he dropped Margaret's arm back at her side, still not looking all that convinced. "Great fighting today Margaret." Alec said turning in her direction, "and don't be so hard on yourself in the future. No one's perfect." With that he turned to leave, pulling along a still confused Jace along behind him.

"Margaret," she spun quickly on her heels at her cousin's voice, forgetting Clary was even in the room, in fact, not remembering anyone else in the room during the fight.

"Yeah?" she replied a wonderfully bright fake smile spread across her face.

"Alec's right, and we will be expecting good things from you, but just realise that what you did today was fantastic okay? I'm so prou-, impressed," she said quickly covering up her almost mistake. Was she proud of the girl? Was that the right word? No, impressed was better, she couldn't be proud of Margaret, she'd just met her. With thoughts eating away at her, Clary too left the room.

Margaret followed soon after, not having anywhere else to go she began to make her way up to her bedroom, taking a couple of wrong turns along the way. Now only a couple of corridors from her room, she made her way down yet another one of the dimly lit corridors.

The wooden floorboards cried as Margaret tip-toed around the new and unfamiliar surroundings. Her bare-feet grazed the rough, frayed carpeting as she crept down the forever lengthening halls of the New York Institute. After the events of the day, Margaret had thought that sleep would have welcomed her enthusiastically. However, after nearly an hour of tossing and turning under the sea of covers, she had finally given up and decided that a walk around her new home might do the trick.

Aimlessly, Margaret pattered past the ancient portraits, carvings, and other pieces of various decoration that seemed to pepper the place. Occasionally stopping at one or the other for a few extra seconds, her purple witchlight clasped tightly in her hand emitting a deep glow across the hall. Formerly, Margaret had been intent on heading over to the library; reading spaces had often been personal sanctuaries for her. However, she could risk running into Magnus again and, for the meantime, Margaret needed some time to simply be herself without fear of judgement.

Time passed slowly, she realised, when one had no purpose. Suddenly though, her heightened hearing runes shone, and the pinpricks of a conversation poked at her ears. It was coming from her left, that she was confident of. It's distance, however, eluded her. The words themselves didn't hit her either; she could only hear the emotion and emphasis behind them. Margaret crept slowly towards the noise, hoping that her soundless rune remained intact, her witch-light now held above her head. The conversation grew louder the farther down the hallway she got, at this point, words began to form, and she could tell that whoever was speaking seemed frantic -or at the very least, stressed.

As Margaret trod further and further down the corridor, she finally realised where the sounds must be coming from, the Head's office. As soon as she approached the large, peeling door, the sounds became clear so clear it felt as if she was practically in the room with them.

"I just don't know if we could handle another one," a deep voice exasperated on the other side, followed by a loud thump- which had to be the speaker slamming his hand down on a desk.

"We don't have a choice, Jace." Another person muttered, "this order comes directly from the Inquisitor. We must house and train her; there's no getting out of this." Margaret shifted uncomfortably, are they talking about me? She thought, quickly etching a rune on the door in front of her, allowing her to see the inside of the room and hopefully get a better understanding of the conversation.

Jace, his deep blond hair ruffled, sat in a rich leather cushioned chair in the centre of the room. His feet propped up casually on the desk that lay in front of him, one foot rested where a pile of papers used to be -they had since been shoved to the ground- and the other next to a fresh, yet crumpled fire message. Alec, who always seemed to prefer towering over his surroundings rather than sitting, stood to the right of the study, his back leaning against a dusty bookcase. A couple of long, boney fingers pinched at the bridge of his nose.

"We've never had to teach young Shadowhunters before. By the angel, we're not tutors!" Jace threw his hands up in the air, clearly aggravated by whatever news they had just received from the Clave.

"It's going to be fine Jace; you saw the way everyone was with Margaret, it wasn't even that different from training Clary when she was new to this, and we managed. Plus, these two were born into the Shadowhunter world; it'll be that much easier." _Two?_ Margaret leaned in even closer, trying to get the best possible view of Alec and Jace. _But, I'm the only new person living here, there can't be somebody else coming...could there?_

"At least with Clary, and Margaret for that matter, we knew why they came. What is it they said about this new one again?" Jace swiped up the note at his foot swiftly, his eyes darting across it for what Margaret guessed was the hundredth time. "She will be sent to you and your team to live and be trained for an estimated 8-9 months. However, during her time at the NY Institute, she will not, with no exceptions made, ever be allowed to participate in field work of any kind. We regret to inform you that the reasons behind this and her transfer are beyond your classifications and no more will be said on the matter."

Alec simply nodded, it was clear that he too had scanned the letter hoping for hints and clues -anything to help them.

"Jace, I think you forget that I haven't only dealt with Clary-"

"You? Don't you mean we?" Jace interjected quickly, smirking despite the situation.

"No, I don't," Alec said smiling back at him slightly, "As I was saying, I haven't only dealt with Clary, but I have dealt with you as well. Trust me; if I could handle you, I can handle anything. Even better yet, I will have you with me to help this time."

"I don't know. These girls, they aren't like you and me, Alec. Something seems seriously off with Margaret," closing her eyes and turning away, Margaret flinched at hearing her name. There was something unsettling about listening to someone talk about you while not knowing you were there. However, as Jace continued, her unease settled slightly, and her curiosity peaked. "And now -what's her name- Sarah? What could have possibly messed up a 15-year-old Shadowhunter so much, that it would result in her being classified as unfit for field work? I mean, what happened to her, what did she do?"

"You know I can't answer that," Alec spoke, "I know as much as you.'

"What, nothing?"

"Jace, the clave tells us what they see fit for us to understand. They do what they think is best for everyone."

"How can the best thing be nothing?"

"Look, I am sure Sarah, whoever she is, will tell us if she thinks it to be important. But let's be honest, did you want Clary to go out on the field when she first joined?"

"What, no, of course not. She wasn't ready."

"Exactly," Alec said smiling, "With this new girl, we won't have to worry about sending her out unprepared. When she is allowed, she will be ready."

"I don't understand, where are you going with this?"

"How many deaths do you have hanging over your head. How many do you blame yourself for?"

Jace's eyes snapped up at that, his jaw set hard, "I've lost count. Too many."

"This is one you can be redeemed for; one you can change."

Margaret sprinted into her room, the door shutting quickly behind her. Somethings off with her. The words pounded into her skull, over and over again. What am I meant to do? She thought, how can I be better? Fit in? Margaret felt herself collapse to the floor, the cooling surface sending sharp pains as it made contact with her skin. Leaning against the wall, she wanted nothing more than to sink through it, to disappear. To her surprise, however, the mirror above her head fell with her last few movements and shattered violently as it made contact with first her, then the floor.

Not knowing what to do, nor how to comprehend the massive crimson slices the glass had made in her skin, Margaret stood stiff and silent. Her mind racing and urging her to move, to grab her stele, but something deeper and more ancient took control of her actions. Willing her to stay stationary and calm, because she wasn't actually in any danger. As she looked down at the spot where the mirror had landed, her brain panicked at the sight of the glass shards mixed with pools of scarlet, but yet again, an instinct told her not to fear.

Sinking back against the wall, Margaret sat gently next to the mess. Her injured leg stretched out in front of her as she tried to minimise the pain that movement was causing her. But she couldn't escape the quickening of her heart rate and breathing at the alarm of seeing her leg this way and at the warmth the blood gave her when she tried to touch it. Wincing and with her senses beginning to return, Margaret fumbled for her stele in her shirt pocket. The cool piece of metal fell limply into her palm as she shook the tool out from it's resting place. But as she began to press the tip of it to her light, bloodied skin, just as Jace had earlier that day, something impossible began to happen. The wound itself paled, the redness receding. The deep gap that made up the slice pulled itself towards its opposite ends, slowly sealing up the gash until it was nothing but a white line, wholly healed, painted with blood.


	10. Chapter 10

Her room at the NY Institute was bigger than her last but lacked a sense of home. Not that Sarah considered the LA Institute her home, but it had, at the very least, given her a false sense of familial security.

This room, from the moment Brother Enoch had brought her up, seemed to give her nothing except a new void to fill. With that last thought in mind, Sarah threw her suitcase onto her bed, allowing the heavy object to sink slowly into the puffed quilt that had been stuffed into the mattress. She let out a small gasp in surprise as the leather lid popped open, the golden button that had before so tightly kept it closed falling with a loud clank to the floor.

However, as the light reflected off of something that lay in the case, Sarah's attention was suddenly caught, and her breathing faltered. Diana packed this, she thought, the world around her going blank. Where'd she even find it?

Picking up the item, a dusty photo within a wooden frame, the memories that she had fought so hard the past year came flooding back into her in a single second. Sarah's cheeks burned, and her vision became glassy, yet what she held remained clear. Setting herself lightly against the wall to keep from falling, her gaze kept itself locked steadily on the young version of herself in the photo in an attempt to keep them from the boy next to her. No, no, no, she chanted in her head, but it wasn't enough and, deep down, Sarah knew nothing could ever be enough. Not when it came to her parabatai, not when it came to Ni-

Knock, knock, knock

The door rattled almost violently and shook Sarah from her reverie. Like a reflex, she threw the picture from her hand into the drawer of her bedside table and tried her best to regain composure. Wiping her eyes roughly with her sleeve and pulling her hair tighter in her ponytail, Sarah lept over to the door, her skin still slightly flushed from the shock.

A tall, dark-haired man stood outside the door, and, if it weren't for his icy blue eyes, she might have mistaken him for a Blackthorn. He fiddled his hands at his waist uncomfortably, flickering in and out of eye contact with her constantly.

"Hi, I'm Alec Lightwood." Stooping down slightly so that he could reach her height, Alec stuck his hand out for her to shake. Sarah took it, her own hand dwarfed and pinked in comparison to his long, slender, ivory fingers. "I'll be one of your instructors here at the New York Institute," he continued. "I teach mostly long-range work, but we'll be seeing a lot of each other over the next few months."

"I'm Sarah. Blackthorn," she nodded, "although you probably already knew that."

Alec cracked a light smile, the skin near the corners of his eyes crinkling. "Yes, we received a message from the Clave a couple of days ago, but we don't know that much about you." There was a warmth and amiability in his voice that nearly made Sarah grin, but before she could, Alec broke the small silence that had begun after he had finished speaking and shook his head, smiling down at his feet, "Anyways, I was sent up to bring you down for dinner. We ordered from the Jade Dragon which is a local favourite, so I hope you're a fan of Chinese food because you'll be having a lot of it."


	11. Chapter 11

Margaret sat wondering in one of the hard, wooden chairs that lined the seemingly unused dining table at the Institute. She was dying to open the book resting in her lap, but knew that once open all life around her would being to fade, and the last thing she needed right now was someone sneaking up on her. A loud ringing had begun in her ears as the minutes she kept there waiting dragged on longer and longer with no one else coming or going. The pins that had threatened her legs before started to make their appearance, and soon she grew tired of simply waiting. _Perhaps I've gotten the time muddled up,_ she thought to herself, picking nervously at the loose threads that layed along the frayed edges of her chair's cushion. But, again, after the time fell later and later, the probability of this became slimmer and slimmer, and, after much inner debate, Margaret finally decided to give up the ghost and head back to her room her fingers itching to the pages.

Guiding the chair away from her, she stood up, preparing to exit, the floorboards creaking beneath her feet. Just then, though, the door knob at the end of the dining hall began to shake and open and Margaret, panicking slightly, slammed herself back down into her seat and shoved it once more back into the table. Laying her hands crossed agaisnt her plate, she tried to look off in thought, as if she hadn't just been sitting there alone for the past hour.

Her attention drifted to her perifery vision, trying to identify the person coming in, and as they edged themselves around the door, she saw. It was Luke. There was a tenseness in her shoulders she hadn't realised was there that relaxed as she saw him and as he sat himself quietly down in a spot diagonal from her on the other side of the table.

Margaret kept her head down and several moments passed in which neither person attempted conversation or general acknowledgement of the other. _I just wish he would say something_ , she thought, her eyes fixated on the palms of her clasped hands. _But then again, he's probably wishing the same thing about me._ Finally, however, it seemed that Luke's obligation as the only adult in the room had gotten to him and for one of the first times ever, he turned himself directly towards his niece.

His kind, blue eyes rested gently upon her, and while Margaret fought hard to keep eye-contact, there was a hint of sympathy that radiated from them.

"Hello," he nodded, awkwardly waving his hand.

"Hi," Margaret shrugged, tucking a runaway strand of hair behind her ear and turning back to her empty plate.

"Um, have you been waiting here long?" He too appeared to be just as uncomfortable with the situation as she; nodding uneasily along with her as she shook her head.

"L-look," he began, stumbling a bit. "I'm sorry about the way things went on with Jocelyn; that shouldn't have been the welcome for you to recieve. You're being blamed for that which you have nothing to do with an-and that's just plain wrong." Pausing for a split second, the ex-shadowhunter searched for the words to say, "Anyways, I've spoken a bit with your aunt and she is ... uh-" He stumbled once again for the words as in truth, Jocelyn had told him to stay clear of the seemingly innocent teen before him. That wasn't exaclty possible now.

"You don't have to cover for her, or pretend she wants to see me." Margaret's gaze was lingering over the wooden table, distracting herself with attempting to pinpoint the exact shade of brown that the peice was composed of. Gaining in both confidence and frustration she looked up, met by the guilty expression on his face. "I just thought that she of all people would know that not all daughters are like their fathers, her own a fine example." Luke shifted uncomfortably in his seat, unable to deny that the girl was correct.

"I'm sorry," He spoke quietly. "and look, if you ever need anything you can come to me."

"Thanks, but I don't exaclty think Jocelyn will appreciate the offer." she mumbled back.

"Right now, I just care that you appreciate the offer." He looked at her earnestly and for perhaps the first time since she had met Jocelyn, the girl cracked a genuine smile.

Soon after Luke had pattered in, the dining room became more and more busy as the others began to filter in as well. Simon had been the first to come; obviously not picking up on the initial tension that had previously filled the room, he quickly remarked on how the food had just arrived and that Izzie and Jace were fixing it up before immediately jumping into one of his television rants.

Margaret grimaced at not only the thought of having to wait another ten maybe fifteen minutes while they set the food up before she could eat -her stomach was on a rampage that night and had been growling for the past hour and a half- but also having to listen to Simon go on about what to her was absolute nonesense. Not having lived nor being exposed to the Mundane world hardly at all, there was a thick line between Simon's interest's and Margaret's. Seeing that as Luke's time living as a Mundane was now beginning to show and that he had started to continue the conversation, Margaret slid out a small notebook from the pocket of her sweatshirt and pulled off the pencil attatched to it. Flipping to a blank page she wrote the date at the top and began to address a diary entry.

However, as she was doing this, Jace, Izzie and Clary poured in with mounds of steaming, hot Chinese food in various plastic containers. Jace, who held the majority of it, layed the hoard of rice, multiple chicken dishes and fried vegetebles evenly down the middle of the table. Following after him, Izzie plopped down a couple of jugs of water in the free spaces while Clary supplied everyone with cups and disposable cutlery. It was a feast Margaret had not seen replicated before, her stomach howled as the wafts of the meats and sauces danced up to her nostrils and before she could do anything to stop it, she began to drool a bit down her shirt. Despite the lack of attention that was being given to here anyways, Margaret's face went hot and she promptly snapped up the napkin her fork rested under to use on her mouth. Much to her dismay, in the corner of her eye she could see Luke casually staring after her giggling; it would seem her sin hadn't gone unnoticed afterall.

Instead of being embarrased, however, she started to laugh almost dispite herself. Luke hadn't made her feel as uncomfortable as if one of the others had seen, on the contrary actually, there was something about the way he had reacted to it that made Margaret feel more at home than ever.

"Are we fianlly ready?" Clary asked Jace, taking the seat on his right. Margaret glanced around the room, the table seemed filled despite two empty chairs on either side of Izzie. Jace glanced up quickly as well, surveying the space before jumping back to setting his own place.

"No," he shook his head, "we're still waiting on Alec; he went to get Sarah, the new trainee."


	12. Chapter 12

Clary nodded uneasily, "What's she like? Have you met her yet?" As if on cue, the double doors creaked open uncertainly and in stepped a tall girl of around 15, with a fairly muscular build and deep brown hair tucked up in a loose ponytale. She wore an expression that was not unlike her own had been the last time she had stepped in front of a new group of people; anxiety ridden and self-concious. However, realising that she was letting her feelings slip visibly, the girl's face stoned over and it no longer showed it's previous emotional expression.

"Hey Alec, nice of you to finally show up." Jace called from across the room, at this, Sarah face froze portraying a look of sheer panic. _Was it my fault we are late, by the angel do they already hate me?_

"What time was it when you arrived the other night?" Alec shot back as Jace frowned in defeat "Hm, thought so." he grinned at his parabatai taking the seat beside him. That left only one seat for Sarah to take and it seemed as if the whole room was staring at her as she plodded over to it.

"Hi Sarah, nice to meet you, I'm Simon," The boy beside her said waving, she gave him a small smile and glanced around the room at all the new faces.

"I'm Luke." The man in the other seat beside her said, he had a kind, fatherly face and put his hand out for her to shake. She took it, the mix of each other's unease making for a very delicate, fast greeting.

"Izzie," a beautiful, dark haired girl nodded from across the table, "you've already met my brother, Alec."

The boy who had previously brought Sarah downstairs sat down the table from her, his face stretched in a light smile as he listened to the blond boy -Jace- speak.

"It's nice to meet you," she nodded, her right hand fiddling with the black, plastic fork next to her plate.

Soon most, if not all, of the food had been passed around and the room seemed alive with conversation. For the most part, Sarah had managed to keep herself out of it. Every once in a while she would catch glimpses of talk, but nothing of much relevance to her:

"You must be glad to get away from the apartment," Jace had said, smirking at Alec while shoving a large forkfull of fried noodles into his mouth.

"Just a bit," Alec shrugged, "but it wasn't so much Max or Raphael but Magnus! No matter how exhausting chasing after a a two-year-old is, making sure Magnus hasn't put glitter or eye-liner on either one of them is way worse"

Max? Raphael? Did Alec really have kids already? He seems a bit young, Sarah thought as she danced a piece of garlic broccoli around her plate.

A null in conversation in the dining hall sounded, plastic cutlery scraping against paper and plastic echoed within the silence as people caught eachother's sideways glances awkwardly.

"So..." Jace started attempting to make conversation with the newer of the 15 year olds, "Sarah, what's your favourite weapon?" To any mundane human unaware of the shadow world this may have seemed an odd, if not a disturbing first question, but Sarah smiled,

"Knives, preferably the throwing kind, then again any will do." Jace cleared his thorat, clearly uncomfortable.

"Margaret!" he nearly shouted across the room, her leg slamming against the table in shock of being adressed, "You like the crossbow, right?" she chomped rapidly trying to swallow the noodles in which she had just taken a huge mouthful of. It was painful for all to watch and the girl's cheeks burned a deep red. She chewed, and chewed, and chewed. Finally she swallowed and nodded,

"yep, that's it." Silence once again. Finally Alec realizing each member at the table was just a hesitant and confused as the other, taking a deep breath asked

"So, which family do you belong to?" Jace, relieved at the question, one in which he knew the answer to voiced,

"You're a Blackthorn, right?"

"Yep" was all Sarah replied with.

"I love that family, we're really good friends with them. Emma as well, though she may as well be a Blackthorn all that's missing is the blood right?" he chuckled

"Well, she's closer to them than I am." Sarah muttered under her breath but loud enough for everyone to hear. Them. As if she weren't a part of the family. To everyone's disbelief it was Margaret that spoke next,

"I get that."

Both girls abbandoned by family. No one knew what to say, Clary looked physically ill and Jace seemed annoyed, not at them, but at himself as if he had somehow initiated this odd turn of events. He opened his mouth to say something, but before he could utter a word Magnus burst through the door.

"Alec, I need your help in the bedroom." Jace coughed and smirked at the two,

"Magnus," he whispered, "there are children here" he waved in the direction of Margaret -who flushed a deep red- and Sarah, "as much as we love hearing about your love life, we can't have it in front of the girls."

Luke, at the end of the table, massaged his temple and the back of his neck. Perhaps he was finding everything just as awkward as the rest of them.

"Raphael and Max's bedroom Jace, by the angel." Magnus huffed back. Alec had gone a rather prominent shade of beetroot at the implication and stumbled out hurridly to attend to his kids.

Magnus walked to the table as if about to take Alec's seat, he paused at the silence that had once again taken over the room. "Well, this is awkward and everyone's uncomfortable. Why don't we call it a night?" Margaret looked up at him and smiled, her first genuine smile since the food had been brought out.

"Sounds like a great idea." Luke breathed, thankful that someone else was able to take over the adult role. They all stood from the table and bid each other goodnight

 **SORRY WE HAVEN'T POSTED IN A WHILE! SCHOOL STARTED UP FOR US AROUND A MONTH AGO AND IT HAS BEEN CRAZY TRYING TO FIT THIS INTO OUR SCHEDULES! PLZ KNOW THAT WE ARE TRYING TO BANG OUT THESE CHAPTER FOR YOU GUYS…SORRY IF SOMETIMES THEY ARE CRAP :P WE REALLY APPRECIATE YOUR GUYS' SUPPORT, YOU HAVE NO IDEA HOW MUCH IT MEANS TO US SO PLZ REVIEW AND LIKE 333**


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